Disclaimer: I do not own "Lilo & Stitch" or any of the characters therein.

CHAPTER THREE

WHY PLEAKLEY?

For the umpteenth time, a roaring silence filled the living room. All eyes were on Pleakley now, and this time they could not miss the look of utmost terror on his face. Every second felt prolonged as each of them waited awkwardly for someone to say something. Again, it was Lilo who brought them all out of their shock by voicing another question. "But why do they want Pleakley? He isn't nearly as crazy as Jumba, and he's not a criminal mastermind… is he?" Pleakley broke out of his daze to give her a suspicious sidelong glance. On her other side, Jumba mumbled, "I prefer the term 'evil genius,' thank you very much."

Stitch finally managed to squeeze out of her arms and jump down onto the floor, where he stood in front of Pleakley, his large black eyes full of questions and concern, something he did not often allow himself to show to the one-eyed alien. Even though Pleakley was one of his favorite 'victims' in his endless crusade for fun at other peoples' expense, the little experiment still had genuine heartfelt feelings for him, and he made this very apparent as he squeezed his stick-like friend with all four arms and said, "Don't worry, Stitch won't let nobody hurt his ohana!"

Pleakley gasped under Stitch's crushing embrace. When he finally let go, Pleakley, at a loss for words, patted him on the head, looking back up at Cobra. "You understand the procedure for this sort of thing, right?" Pleakley gulped hard and nodded, his voice tiny and frail as he uttered his reply: "C-classified?" Cobra nodded solemnly in return before turning to Lilo, whose mouth was wide open as she was about to ask another question. "Classified," he repeated, in a very somber voice that made the matter final. At this, Lilo's mouth closed and her face fell into one of her typical pouts as she crossed her arms and frowned at the floor. "No fair!" she muttered under her breath.

"As for the rest of you," Cobra continued, turning to address the others, "You are to go about your normal lives as if this conversation never took place, and, as far as anyone knows, it didn't. Jumba, you are not to accept any communications that are not of this world, do you understand? Transmissions from the Federation may be intercepted by the Kaizaxx, plus it is believed that there is a mole at work under the Council. If this is true, then we all need to be especially cautious."

"What about Pleakley?" asked David. "No offense, but isn't he kind of, I don't know, a walking invitation for danger as long he hangs around here? I mean, he's alright in my book, but these Kaizaxx… didn't you say they'd stop at nothing to get what they want, even if it's just this ordinary little one-eyed dude?" Cobra regarded him for a moment before answering. "The Federation has agents monitoring every aspect of the Kaizaxx network. They'll know if there's any reason for us to be concerned. Presently the talk of targeting Earth does not sound yet like a definite plan.

The Grand Council woman has sent orders for Pleakley to remain on Earth for the time being. Any open communication, to or from this planet, as well as arrivals and departures, are certain to be detected by the Kaizaxx. So for now, Stitch and Jumba are to keep a low profile, while Pleakley will be coming with me. The rest of you are to pretend that he doesn't exist, and to deny any knowledge of him or what you heard today. If there is cause for concern, the Council will let me know, and from there we'll move to plan B."

Stitch stopped cleaning his nostrils with his tongue just long enough to ask, "What's plan B?"

From behind his Ray-Bans, Cobra frowned down at the little blue alien. Stitch lifted his ears curiously. "What?" "Classified," Pleakley answered, shifting uncomfortably. "It's so classified even I don't know what it is!" he chuckled nervously, standing up to allow the sand that had seeped into his swim trunks to pour out onto the floor. He felt Nani's reproving glare for making a mess and added, "I'll just fetch a broom and dustpan and sweep this up. Heh!" He headed into the kitchen. Everyone watched him go, surprised at how calmly he seemed to be taking the news and wondering what an intergalactic militia could possibly want with the unremarkable little underdog.

"He's certainly handling this very well," Nani muttered, half to herself. "I would have expected him to - I don't know - flip out or something. I know I would if I were in his shoes." Cobra nodded without taking his eyes off the kitchen door. "That's what worries me." Nani looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?" But just then Pleakley came back into the living room, carrying a dustpan. Kneeling on the floor, he began to shuffle the dustpan under the pile of sand, trying to pick it up like an egg with a spatula.

"Uh, Pleakley, you forgot the broom," Nani reminded him. He glanced up at her. "The broom? Oh, yes! How silly of me! I'll just - go and get it, then. Be right back!" Hauling the dustpan with him, he shuffled toward the kitchen again, leaving the others to puzzle over his mental stability. "That's what I mean," Cobra said heavily, and it was confirmed when Pleakley came back into the living room a second later with the broom, but not the dustpan. No one said anything this time as they watched him sweep up the sand into a neat little pile and then moved that pile around on the floor without a clue of what to do with it.

After a minute or two of watching him, Cobra stepped across the room and laid a firm hand on the alien's shoulder. "Gather your things, Pleakley. You're coming with me." Shocked out of his sweeping stupor, Pleakley dropped the broom in the middle of the floor and followed the former CIA's gesture toward the stairs. Up in the room he shared with Jumba, Pleakley sighed, leaning against the door until it closed under his weight. After a moment he let himself slide down to the floor, where he placed his head in his hands and shut his eye tight, remembering:

Red… Red light glaring at him between bars of pitch black… Shadows… Tall, twisted, monstrous shadows, followed by their equally tall, twisted and monstrous owners… Then pain… Pain beyond possibility, beyond endurance… Then nothing… Not even thought… Only an awareness of existence, with no meaning or emotion connected with it… Then sleep, sleep deeper than death, and with no return… Until the return of pain…

Alone in his room… alone with the memories of the monsters and the pain… a past he had wrestled long ago into the dark recesses of repression… Pleakley broke down on the floor and cried.